Dragon Child
by DizziZilla
Summary: The conflict between friends has come to a tragic end, but a prayer turns everything on its head. Yona, with the mind of a battle-worn warrior, is thrust back into her childhood, where naive kings, violent generals and friends—now strangers—must be united if she is to save the legions promised. But even if a better future is won, who is going to save the lost dragon child, herself?
1. Prologue: The Prayer of a Sister

Prologue:

The Prayer of a Sister

He knew the moment she arrived at the palace. He felt it in the air, felt the hush descend, felt the collective inhale so vibrant with tension, hundreds of servants of the kingdom holding their breath, their awe almost palpable. _She comes._

It didn't surprise Soo-won that she came to him first. She was a woman of action, and a woman as full of heart as she was of fire. Still, he was not prepared for the sight of her. He never was these days.

It was strange that someone so small could be so striking.

Her stride was quiet. Not that of a general, or sovereign—strong and declarative—but rather the stride of a hunter, skill without fanfare. Her quiver and bow were slung over her shoulder over the cloak, the hood obscuring her face, but her hair, grown long over the years, tumbled over her shoulders, gleaming crimson against her armor in the lamplit dark. A hand, calloused and scarred by years of battle by sword and bow, rested on the pommel of the short-sword at her hip. She was dressed like a humble traveling warrior, but a low huff of laughter left his lips at the thought. No one would mistake her as such. Not with that bearing. Not with those eyes.

Not for the first time, her father's words rang in his mind:

 _'You know that girl… is the reincarnation of King Hiryuu.'_

At the time it was pure nonsense; more evidence that Kouka could not afford him upon the throne. Not until years later did it begin to trickle back to them in haunting whispers, and then in thunderclap declarations—not of her supposed birthright, or of any mystical destiny. No. Far more meaningful than that.

' _She is our savior_.'

Again and again they had been met with this sentiment. Not said out of duty. Said out of love. She loved them, she saved them… and they loved her, and they moved, and yearned, to save her in return. Soul by soul, village by village, tribe by tribe. She wasn't a good leader…she was a miraculous one.

Not a leader of men. A leader of hearts.

She stopped directly in front of the door to his cell, the tension in her straight shoulders wound tight as she pulled back the hood of her cloak, those amethyst eyes meeting his.

Those eyes always surprised him.

She was angry. Naturally. But it was the wrong kind of anger. He smiled ruefully.

 _Of course._

It didn't matter that he had killed her father. Didn't matter that he had chased her out of her home and made her live like a fugitive. Didn't matter that she had experienced terror, grief, hunger, sickness, and war because of him… The kind of woman she was now, the creature she had become, was famous for one thing above all else—strength of heart. She lived in the present for the sake of the future, and saw people not for their sins, but for what potential they had for good.

 _This is why she is so loved. How many have I seen become new men after she had come and gone?_

Soo-won stood and carefully cleaned his writing brush, setting it to the side. The remaining work he had to do for the transfer of the throne could wait until her questions were answered. He turned carefully, his eyes drifting to her companion.

He was met with shuttered steely blue.

Hak had changed, too. Perhaps not so drastically, as he'd always been a fierce and loyal warrior, but he'd grown harder, gained new scars. A ragged one stretched down from the left curve of his jaw, and Soo-won could see how it began again at the right side of his neck—it seemed that he had been struck deeply while turning his face to the side. Had he been blocking a blow of some sort? Perhaps one aimed at the princess? The scar was fully healed, though Soo-won could sense his old friend was hiding pain of some sort.

No doubt the one who gave it was long dead. After all, Kouka's _Thunder Beast_ was more famous now than he'd been as a general. There were even whispers of him having some dragon blood of his own.

Still, Su-won felt no bloodlust from him. Hadn't for a while. Distrust, and pain, but not the terrifying malevolence that there once was. Just heavily armored gates that would never open again.

That cut deeper than anything else could.

Yona's ear turned toward her tall shadow, and murmured words were exchanged. Hak's pale blue eyes flickered back to Soo-won briefly, but quickly returned to the princess. Soo-won noted the way they stood, as if they were in a habitual defensive battle stance; Yona on his left, sharp and watchful, Hak at her back and angled to her right, leaving him in profile. Strangely, it left the impression of the two standing back to back, though they didn't.

Hak nodded his approval, and Yona echoed the movement, decided, before lifting her head again.

"Open it."

A guard stepped forward to unlock the door to his furnished cell. Amethyst eyes locked on his, and her head tilted toward the exit. "Walk with me."

She set off, not waiting for his reply. Four guards entered the cell, bolting cuffs in place, and escorted him out. They found Yona, Hak at her shoulder, waiting at the outer door of the dungeon. Upon their approach, they set out again, walking at a purposeful clip down the stone path. The moon was bright, but the lamps were brighter, a full turnout of public servants and help witnessing their march. Most of the faces he recognized. Good people, their inner conflict visible in their expressions and their silence. No hostility toward either party, only a sense of respect and sadness. Respect for both rulers, and regret at the grievances between them.

He watched Yona, the way the moon and firelight glimmered in her hair, half pulled back to a beautiful braided bun at the base of her skull, little braids decorating the cascade down her back. Simple tasseled earrings swayed as she observed their audience. He could see sorrow in the shape of her shoulders, in the dignified lines of her profile. Was she experiencing their grief, or was this grief a scar of her own?

Up ahead five figures waited. White, green, blue, and gold—the dragons—and the fair-haired young man Soo-won had seen with them so frequently. These, too, had changed, sporting a few raging scars of their own. The blue-haired man's bronze prosthetic hand gleamed in the light, drawing attention to it. The white-haired one, Hakuryuu if he remembered aright, stood at that shoulder, a leather eyepatch slightly marring the pristine visage he once had. The green-haired man's scar was a direct assault on the man's once good looks, a jagged line across his right cheek and nose. A strange haggardness hung about him, a far cry from his once suave, lazy facade. Only the yellow-haired boy remained mysteriously unchanged, all for the slight tightness in his eyes that his cheerful smile couldn't quite kill.

The procession paused in their midst, their crimson-haired leader turning back to him.

"Is there anyone you wish to bring with you?"

Son-won smiled. That was another of their differences, one he envied most. He looked at the way the group flanked her and Hak, the lines of trust and matching scars between them. Drawn tight by battles and sacrifice side-by-side in the name of devotion and brotherly love.

Souls united, moved by devotion and love, _family_ , was a beautiful thing in a sphere all its own. Such a thing could not be bought, could not be demanded, could not even be earned. It was a priceless treasure that few, even among the deserving, truly found...or recovered, once lost.

He shook his head. Comrades for the kingdom, he had. Brothers to share his own burdens, he did not. He met her eyes.

Not anymore.

"No."

She nodded, turning again, gaze roving over the paths before them. The path to the main palace. The path to the gardens. The path to the training grounds. She considered them, taking in the somber faces lining them, expression thoughtful. When she moved, it was down a vacant path. One he recognized.

The old temple.

They left behind their audience, the fluttering of their cloaks and the clicking of their boots the only sounds as they approached the ruins of the once grand temple. Soo-won noted that the green dragon seemed to walk with a slight limp, as if one of his feet were heavier than the other.

The temple was in shambles, a haunting vacancy that none approached since his own father ordered it to be destroyed decades ago. She came to a halt at the base of the steps, gazing at the battered and blackened gate before them, and turned to one of her companions—the golden-haired boy.

A look passed between them; question on her side, and a strangely sage acceptance on his. He smiled. "You'll rebuild it, Miss. Zeno will help you."

The princess nodded, leading them up and through the sad gate before coming to a stop once more, surveying the damaged hall before them.

A wooden pillar lay on its side, the rafter it supported splintered and sagging. Ash, dust and cobwebs lying thickly over every surface, the stone and woodwork riddled with black stains, torn and burned tapestries in sad disarray, evidence of fires fueled by mounds of ancient books and scrolls in every corner. A considerable hole in the roof sent a pillar of dancing motes through the center of the destruction. They would need no lamps.

Yona walked slowly forward, stepping over the fallen pillar, and with weary creak and clink of leather and armor, lowered herself to sit upon it.

It was strange. He never used to forget how young she was. Now, she seemed at once too young… and much too old.

"Why?"

The word was weighted, and none doubted who it was said for. He answered.

"The people want you."

She looked over her shoulder at him, expression chiding. "The people already have me, Soo-won."

He hummed, stepping forward to sit on the pillar beside her. None of her companions intervened. They trusted that she would tell them if she needed their support. He could also sense that they felt this was something that began before them, a moment that wasn't theirs to break. Only Hak moved, settling into the seat on the Princess's other side. Soo-won tried not to show that it pleased him. "Kouka cannot have two kings. It will lead to war."

"I have no intention to pit our people against one another," she said quietly.

Hak snorted. As attention fell on him, Soo-won felt a twinge at the look his once-friend gave her. A openness of pride, of devotion, and a gentle rebuke at her selective ignorance. The look softened the lines of pain in his brow, eased the fierceness about him.

"Whether you lead them to battle or not, they would find a way to fight for you."

"Kouka cannot afford to be so divided," Soo-won confirmed, reaching down to pick up the burnt husk of a scroll, the chains of his cuffs clinking. It was splintery, and broke under its own weight. "Our country is strong now. Our greatest weakness, and our enemy's greatest opportunity, is this division of loyalty. They will feed it, and instigate civil war… it is likely that they have already begun."

Silence reigned.

She knew it was true; she'd seen enough of the world, enough insatiable power-mongers, to know what this uncertainty would look like to their neighbors. A chance.

"…You are a good king, Soo-won. A strong king." she turned toward him, her heavy sadness visible again in the absence of anger. "At times we've fought over methods. At times I feared what you would do… but Kouka is better for having you upon the throne."

Soo-won blinked. Her eyes did not leave his, and the grief was haunting. _Of course. She loved her father, just as I loved mine._

If it weren't for the history of their fathers, what might they have become?

He glanced over her shoulder. Hak's eyes were centered on a fixed point on the other end of the temple.

In spite of his lazy mask, his mischief, his fierceness… Hak's pure-hearted devotion matched his strength. It was as straight-forward and unwavering as the mountains. It consumed him.

And when it betrayed him, it left a gaping whole that was both terrifying and harrowing to witness. Hak's pain ran deep. If it weren't for Yona, what would he have become, left to grieve alone?

When Yona spoke again, the words rang loud, though they were just a whisper. "I will not sanction your execution, Soo-won."

He sighed. This would not be easy.

"You don't have a choice, Yona."

He cringed at the look in her eyes. She never did take well to the idea of necessary casualties. The suggestion never failed to kindle that strange light that had cowed many a king across the continent. Even now he felt the hammering of his heart in his ears, the seizing of his limbs, and the terrible dread of the hunted.

" _Explain_."

He forced his eyes shut. "The most secure way to assure an undisputed transfer of the throne was to call my ascension into question. I confessed to the murder of King Il, and to the attempt on your life that drove you from the palace. The people do not know yet, but it is only a matter of time before word gets out."

She stood abruptly, striding forward. She stopped before the cracked remains of a giant stone tablet, and did not turn back.

It was best this way. It cleared Hak of all lingering suspicion, exposing him for the hero he was… and it eliminated the possibility that their two parties might be forced to join hands.

For he knew this Yona was not the spoiled, faint-hearted child she once was. This Yona battled herself as fiercely as she did her enemies. If she imagined the kingdom needed it, she would make peace, forgive, and fight to forget.

And seeing her do it would break his heart.

He never would have thought that someday tiny little Yona would be stronger than him.

He tossed the sorry remains of the scroll to join its sorry brethren, taking a cleansing breath.

"You'll be rebuilding the temple, then."

It took her a while to answer. He watched her shoulders pull back, forced against a burden he was sorry to see her bear.

"Yes."

He didn't place much weight in matters outside the reach of men, but it did not mean that he did not wonder. She did not seem to grieved by the state of the temple, nor had he heard her make any claims regarding her supposed divine heritage.

"Do the gods speak to you?"

She turned her head slightly, the profile of her cheek visible. There was a ghost of a smile there, though it was too distracted and wry to be genuine mirth.

"No… But I've demanded their cooperation often enough that I ought to play nicely with them now and then."

A rumbling of quiet amusement filled the temple. Her companions did not seem surprised. Though it was tainted by the same burden he saw on Yona's shoulders, the first smile Soo-won had seen on Hak's face in years surfaced. A little taken aback, Soo-won found his brows rising.

"And they've… taken well to these 'demands'?"

"We're not dead yet," Hak answered quietly, shrugging.

But there was something about that ' _yet_ ' that wasn't as light as he felt Hak meant it to be. Yona turned away.

"What are they like?" he asked. He didn't really need to know, but the aura of the room was unpleasant.

"The gods?" Yona asked. When he nodded, he heard her turn, looking to one of the warriors.

The golden haired boy answered.

"Expansive. Patient. All-seeing."

Soo-won snorted. It was better to keep his focus on what was under his hands, not over his head, after all. Still, he found himself reluctant to let the conversation die. It had been too long since he had been near them without hostilities souring it.

"Tell me… King Hiryuu—did he truly become human because he loved them?"

"Yes." The boy's words rang with a quiet sort of conviction that made Soo-won turn toward him.

"Couldn't he do more good as a god?" Soo-won pressed, curious as to why he felt like this boy might actually know the answer. That was absurd… unless the dragon's avatars shared memories? "Wouldn't it have been easier for him to keep his distance, interfering as he pleased?"

The boy shook his head, a fringed medallion at his ear swinging with the motion.

"The gods _cannot_ interfere as they please—the strength of their power is too vast… their hearts bear the scars of its cruelty, as do the human souls they touched with it. Zeno knows they do not commit such acts lightly."

Soo-won's brows lifted. An interesting theory. Strangely, though, he didn't feel like this was a matter of theory to this 'Zeno.' He looked almost… haunted.

"So Hiryuu became human so that he could act freely for humanity's sake?"

"You are also his descendant—do you not find that the strength of earnest human hearts united is power enough for even gods to find beautiful?"

Soo-won blinked. This boy, no, _man_ , looked at him as if he knew him. What was more disconcerting still, the words rang true.

He cleared his throat. "And he never regretted it?"

At this, the dragon looked to Yona. "Miss?"

Soo-won turned to find Yona watching them. The look in her eyes was distant, thoughtful. The lines of grief in her face… were they permanent?

"I… I remember very little. If it weren't for the nostalgia, for the affection I felt when I met each of the four dragons," she smiled at the men behind him, her eyes softening "I would still doubt whether I was Hiryuu's reincarnation at all."

"It was unmistakable to us, Princess," Hakuryuu, the silver-clawed dragon, spoke in earnest. "Unmistakable for _all_ of us."

"Certainly a feeling that's very difficult to forget, Yona dear," the green one agreed, something about his smile making Soo-won suspect that it wasn't all pleasant. Perhaps painful, even, though a fond memory now.

Yona's gaze lowered. Her smile fading back into that distant, thoughtful expression.

"I've often wished for more strength…" her eyes narrowed, and she turned back away, her gloved hands wiping away at the layer of dust on the large dragon carving on the tablet's face. "At times, I've felt a terrible sense of clarity… almost as if I remembered _having_ that strength. Almost as if I could reach out and touch it if I truly wanted to…"

Her hand stopped, lingering on the head of the dragon.

"It is better to be human, Young Miss," the golden-haired boy said softly, his tone strangely cautious. "Hiryuu suffered greatly to become human. Zeno thinks it is a gift that Young Miss isn't burdened by such struggles."

There was something about the sliver of her profile as her ear flinched toward him as he said those words, something bitter. After a moment she spoke so softly that he almost didn't hear it.

"…Heaven forbid that I should be burdened."

Something was off, _wrong_. He turned his head quietly, taking in the expressions of the dragons. They all bore the same look, directed at the back of the princess. Worry. Sadness. A feeling of sorrow for her situation, and a heavy resignedness.

 _She's losing them_ , he realized. He'd seen those looks before on the faces of his own men as they realized that he would soon be bearing his burdens without them. He'd seen that look on Joo-do.

He thought there was a heaviness about them, a sort of fatigue… they were _dying_.

They were going to leave Yona behind.

His eyes shot to Hak. The warrior was looking down, a disturbing lifelessness in his gaze.

King Il. Soo-won. General Mundok. Now the dragon warriors that he had come to trust as brothers. How many more could Hak bear to lose?

Yona's hand had begun to move again, smoothing dust and ash out the lines of the dragon's mane. A slight gasp sounded to his right, and Soo-won turned to see the fringed golden medallion fall from the yellow dragon's headband, rolling a few feet away. It seemed to pulse strangely.

"I'd like to think that I'd use it solely for the people," Yona murmured quietly, almost as if she spoke to the dragon carving, not having heard the boy's intake of breath. Her voice was so quiet it sounded as if she hadn't meant to be overheard. Soo-won wondered if she might be crying. "But in all truth… if I had that power, I'd use it to give us all a second chance… a better chance. Is that too selfish a thing to wish for?"

"Little Mis—!" the yellow dragon stumbled forward, but his warning didn't leave his lips in time. A terrible roaring filled the temple. The foundation beneath them trembled, dust shaking free from the rafters. Hak lurched forward as ceiling tiles began to fall from the hole in the roof.

" _Princess!_ "

The chaos ceased as abruptly as it began. The three of them had ended up on the temple floor, Soo-won on his knees, and the other two sitting on their backsides beside him, having scrambled away from the giant tablet. Yona was pulled tightly into Hak's chest as the two of them watching the teetering mass of cracked stone warily, a scrape he was certain would bruise bleeding at the corner of Hak's right eyebrow. The air was full of dust, their breath making it swirl. Somewhere behind them the fair-haired young man coughed.

"Is everyone okay? Did anyone get hit by those ceiling ti—"

When he went quiet, Yona turned in Hak's hold to look toward the temple entrance, a fistful of cloak held to her face to prevent dust inhalation. "Yoon? Is Jae-ha..."

She trailed off, her eyes following something upward, something close. Soo-won turned, sensing Hak doing the same.

The four dragons stood immediately behind them, making both parties start. Hak growled.

"You trying to give us a heart attack? The Princess is fine."

None of the dragons answered. They weren't looking at him, but had their eyes fixed tightly on Yona, a strange light in them.

In fact, Soo-won was almost certain their eyes were _glowing_.

Something in Yona's eyes darkened. Something in her voice made Soo-won shiver to the very core of his bones.

" _Whoever you are, I want my friends back,_ _ **now**_."

When the dragons spoke, they spoke in unison, their separate voices reverberating as one, filling the crumbling temple hall and pressing on the ears painfully.

 _ **"LONG HAVE WE WAITED FOR YOUR HEART TO OPEN TO HEAVEN ONCE MORE, SISTER."**_

Soo-won covered his ears tightly, a warm stickiness meeting his hands. By the sight of what was trailing from Hak's ears, he imagined it was blood. His old friend held Yona's head tightly to his chest, covering her ears as his remaining palm pressed against his own ear closest to the four strangers before them. Yona's gaze had not left the four, the ones that had called her ' _Sister_ ,' a title that rang strangely from their lips, almost as if it were a title that meant many things at once.

Bizarrely, he thought one of those meanings might also have been ' _Brother._ '

When Yona spoke, his ears were still ringing too loudly to hear the words, but by the severity of her expression, and the movement of her lips, he imagined it was a command to declare their purpose. All four dragons lowered to sit on their haunches, their eyes almost reverent in their affection.

 _ **"WE WERE ONCE, AND ALWAYS, YOUR BROTHERS. OUR HEARTS ARE ALWAYS WITH YOURS. WE WISH THAT YOURS MIGHT BE WITH OURS ONCE MORE… SISTER, COME HOME."**_

When the four extended their hands toward her, the reaction was immediate. Before Soo-won was even aware of what he had done, he was crouching at the side of his childhood friends, braced in a formation that felt as old as breathing—him and Hak, between their littlest member and a threat. It felt so much like long-forsaken _home_ that he might have cried if he weren't petrified.

Now he had an inkling of who it was before them. The stories of his youth, inhaled while hidden away in the library, flared to brilliant life in his mind. These were The Four Dragons, _themselves_. King Hiryuu's godly brothers.

Standing head-to-head with Heaven was a terrifying thing.

Their eyes, bright and cutting, zeroed in on the mortals in their attempt to interfere. Though their expressions were not vicious or cruel, Soo-won knew, with certainty, that he would not survive their gazes for long. It was as if they peeled back his flesh, layer by layer, exposing his heart, examining it with such clinical detachment that he wasn't sure his death would be intentional or completely by accident. It would be deadly whether it was predatory or not.

"STOP!"

This time it was not the dragons that spoke. Though his ears could hear nothing in the wake of their voices, he heard the cry tremble in the fibers of his heart in the same way, almost as if another dragon had joined them. Small hands slid over their eyes as Yona stood, stepping between them. A strange red light seemed to glow through his eyelids at her touch.

" _PLEASE. THESE MEN—ALL OF THEM—ARE MY FRIENDS. I CANNOT LEAVE THEM, OR MY PEOPLE. RETURN THEM TO ME UNHARMED_!"

Suffocating, rending sadness filled the temple, making Soo-won's sore eyes water, tears streaming from beneath Yona's hand. He felt as if his heart was being crushed. He couldn't breathe for the grief—it was _agonizing_.

 _ **"SISTER…"**_

Yona stood, unwavering. The silence stretched.

He could feel it, their love for her. It ached, it yearned, like some unbearable, wretched vacancy in the soul. He thought he heard a stuttering gasp akin to pain tear from Hak's throat. The sounds of four sets of knees hitting stone sounded, and Yona's hand lowered, revealing that the dragons cried, also. Their eyes had closed.

 _ **"Sister,"**_ the voices were gentler now, though they still rumbled in the bones. _**"Are you certain?"**_

 _"Yes,"_ Yona answered, her voice still sounding eerily akin to theirs, but had quieted as well. Soo-won hazarded a look at her, and found that there was a strange flaming light in her eyes, that same light that he had seen in her on the battlefield, bleeding into her irises, a mesmerizing purple and red dawn.

There was also compassion there, a sense of their disappointment wounding her as well. She spoke their names hesitantly.

 _"Hakuryuu, Seiryuu, Ryokuryuu, Ouryuu…You have indeed been patient—but I cannot leave them."_

The silence stretched long, the grief slowly steeping into resignation mixed with traces of affectionate exasperation. Almost as if they had expected this answer all along. Low chuckles trembled in the stonework.

 _ **"Indeed. We hoped that a new birth, growing up among mortal faithlessness, might have tempered your openness to them… but it was in vain. You remain ever our Hiryuu."**_

Yona lowered slowly, coming to rest on her knees, her eyes searching, a question on the tip of her tongue. Soo-won wondered the same thing.

If they knew what her answer would be, why did they come?

Four brows lifted, wry amusement in their multi-colored eyes, eyes they fixed on Yona alone, as if Hak and Soo-won had ceased to exist. Soo-won wondered how she could bear those all-seeing eyes as she did.

"Why have you come?" she finally asked, her voice once more sounding like the Yona he was familiar with. The dragons exchanged glances.

 _ **"You finally prayed for something only We could grant,"**_ they said simply.

Yona blinked, confusion in her softened gaze.

 _ **"A second, better chance—the opportunity to use time lost, time before the seed of the strife was planted,"**_ at this, the four pinned Hak and Soo-won with that terrifying gaze once more. It was brief, but harrowing. A shadow of hostility flashed briefly when they turned to him, a flash that made his heart seize in pain. A warning. _**"Time before the start of ends—a time of beginnings."**_

Soo-won felt his eyes slowly widen as terrible comprehension sank roots into his mind. He thought he might fall over, it caught him so blind.

These were _Gods_. This was the _Heavens_ kneeling before her.

This was _Time_ they were offering.

 _This was_ Everything _they were offering_.

All of creation, turned back at the call of one soul.

Yona's reply broke the silence, spoken with such a heavy heart that Soo-won's reeling consciousness slowed. The lines in her face looked so pronounced, so _weary_. Careworn. _Burdened_.

 _"But would it truly be a better chance?"_

He recognized this. It wasn't grief alone that had carved those lines in her once smooth features.

It was responsibility.

How often had she intervened when war was on the horizon? How many of the sovereigns on the continent knew her by sight, if not by name? How often had he arrived to investigate rumors of injustice and pain, to find that she had arrived before him? Yona carried Kouka as if the weight was hers to bear… as if she had picked it up along with her sword all those years ago. As if it was the price of that sword—the price of her life.

Because of this nature of hers, she knew the same hesitation Soo-won felt. One did not gamble with the fate of nations so lightly…

 _ **"Thousands more will be saved."**_

Yona's gaze sharpened, blazing with intensity, and the pressure in the room came to an abrupt hold. Hak's eyes darkened in contrast, his scowl fierce as he shifted, grasping Yona by the belt, pulling her back.

"And the _price_?" he growled, his distrust palpable. Soo-won saw his objection—they had stabbed right at the heart of her nature without mercy or remorse.

The Dragons eyed Hak briefly, but it was not a look of anger…rather, a look of veiled approval.

 _ **"Our Sister, alone, will remember all…"**_

They fixed Yona with those eyes, the aching vacancy in their hearts tangible in the air once more

 _ **"…And She will remember Us, Her Brothers, once more."**_

When they spoke their next words, it had a strange echo within it. He could almost swear he was hearing Yona's own voice speaking the words again, just as she had before:

 _ **"'Is that too selfish a thing to wish for?'"**_

A strange expression seized the features of the Yellow Dragon. Confusion. Pain. The brightness left his eyes suddenly, Ouryuu's vessel gasping as fists balled in pain struck the temple floor.

" _Have mercy, Heavens_ ," a human voice choked, gasping in desperation. " _The Little Miss is Mortal—she will not last under such a burden!_ "

The other three Dragons watched the vessel's plea, exchanging glances.

 _ **"Hiryuu bore it,"**_ they reasoned, their expressions strangely childlike.

The vessel, Zeno, remained bent in his submissive stance, his forehead pressed against the stone. "Hiryuu died young, and the Little Miss will be only a child. Children are fragile, O Lords of Heaven, far more so than men. Please, have mercy."

The gods considered him quietly, their gazes seeming to burn through him. They blinked in unison, gazing at one another, then at Yona, where she knelt, shielded partially behind Hak's shoulder. When they approached, Hak stiffened, moving to shield her completely.

He began to shake as those eyes bore into his, but he held fast. If Yona had not intervened, he might have fallen—as it was, he collapsed against her back as she blocked him from view, sweat bleeding through his robes. Yona's look of rebuke upon the Dragon's would have made anyone cower, but the foremost Dragon, the silver-haired man, only smiled, the love in his eyes pure and proud. He wondered briefly if he shared his nature with his vessel. His regard seemed especially earnest.

He raised his hand, the one without claws, and touched two fingers to Yona's brow, his brothers clasping his shoulders. Rather than adding to the power of the touch, it seemed as if their assistance was to draw power _out_ of him, perhaps weakening his blessing as it was spoken. He wondered what the full power of the blessing, undiluted, would have done to his childhood friend.

 _ **"Our Sister, Beloved Heart of the Noblest Realms,"**_ the thrum of his voice trembled with restraint and an aching desire to _give._ **"** _ **This blessing We extend to Thee—**_ _ **Let Thy Remembrance be Proportionate to Thy Strength's Finding, and Let Solace, Peace, and Courage be Found in the Loyalties of the Hearts Pledged Thee.**_ _ **"**_

Hak caught Yona with trembling arms as she fell unconscious. The Dragons turned on the golden-haired boy as Hak checked her breathing and heartbeat.

 _ **"Our Brother's lonely warrior,"**_ the blue one approached, his brothers clasping his shoulder as they had before giving their blessing to Yona. Again, fingers were pressed to brow as the words were spoken. _**"Long have you wandered. We have seen your griefs, and know your heart. This blessing we give to you—**_ _ **That a Portion of Thy Gift be Shared, By Thy Hand's Touch, to Thy Fellow Dragon-Blessed.**_ _ **"**_

The golden-haired boy blinked, the light returning as the human fell away, the godly glow all that remained.

The Yellow Dragon, returned, smiled sadly.

 _ **"Thank you, Brother."**_

The Blue Dragon smiled likewise, speaking quietly. _**"Long have I seen you grieve for this one, Ouryuu. You are not alone in seeing his sacrifice."**_

The green-haired vessel, Ryokuryuu, turned away from the two as they spoke, extending his hand toward the empty dark of the temple wall. A strange draft stirred the dusty temple floor as ash, moth-eaten threads, and dust swirled, rising up, weaving together and leaping to his command in the form of a tattered, fragile expanse of cloth.

Yet, when the Dragon's hand closed around it and pulled, the cloth shed its state of mortal decay, a gorgeous array of gleaming silken colors rippling through it in a fluttering blast of power, brightening the moon and dragon-lit hall.

The Dragon turned, beautiful silken sheen in hand, toward where Hak knelt, Yona in arm.

Hak drew back, distrust in his eyes. The Green Dragon only smiled, a strange knowing in his gaze as he held out the shimmering cloth. _**"It will be winter where Our Sister is going."**_

Glaring at him for a few moments longer, Hak reached out, snatching the cloth, and examined it suspiciously. It shimmered strangely, slightly too bright, but the glow around it _did_ look warm… He tucked it around her carefully, anger in every line of his face. "You gods don't give much a damn for the idea of free will, do you?"

The Dragon glanced toward his brothers, a slightly wry smile on his face, before sitting on his haunches before the two. His amusement seemed to only irritate Hak further as his brothers clasped their hands upon Ryokuryuu's shoulders.

"You—"

 _ **"We know Our Sister—as do You."**_ Ryokuryuu interrupted, eyes daring Hak to challenge it. By the way Hak faltered, Soo-won knew that Hak couldn't deny that given the chance to save thousands of her people, Yona's nature would compel her to take any thorny path required, whatever the cost to herself. By the grief it seemed to cause him, Hak wished it weren't true… though he loved her for it.

Seeing this, the Dragon's expression softened in compassion, two fingers lifting to touch the warrior's brow.

 _ **"Fear not, Champion of Hiryuu, your heart, also, have We seen,"**_ the Dragon's eyes flickered as his brothers drew back his power, but his voice was steady, the pulse of power evident. _**"Burdened will Our Sister be, as alone She bears that which childhood cannot withstand. To you, whose nature compels to defend, We give this blessing and privilege—**_ _ **That When Safely Guarded In Thy Grasp, Our Sister Might Know A Child's Spirit Again**_ _ **."**_

Soo-won watched numbly as his childhood friend fell, anger seeping through him. What business had Gods to thrust their interests upon mortals? Why now, after so much had been fought for, so much gained at the end of such sacrifice? Why not earlier, before so much suffering had taken place?

Because Yona hadn't asked for it? Hadn't asked for the impossible, until she stood at the end of it all, grief and burden carved into every line?

This is why his father had despised the gods.

Yona's fair-haired young physician, Yoon if Soo-won caught right, had finally summoned his courage, breaking the silence as he stumbled forward, false bravado covering the shaking of his knees as he rounded the dragons at a fair distance and knelt by his friends' sides, seeking their pulses. His hands shook, and from the chagrinned look on his face, he couldn't get an accurate read. "Gods…Ik-soo better not have foreseen this…W-what did you do to them? Why are they asleep?"

He stiffened, clearly regretting his stuttered questions as he looked up to find the studious eyes of four dragons upon him.

But Ouryuu smiled, looking to his brothers meaningfully. Their hands reached out to him, and Soo-won knew another of their 'blessings' was about to happen.

Apparently, so did Yoon, if his hasty scramble backwards was any indication.

"No, no-no-no-no… not me. I'm just a humble handsome genius—no need for any extra greatness, or burdens, or any of that business!"

Ouryuu beckoned expectantly. _**"Our Sister's work will change much—surely you still wish to find the Oracle, and be thrown in with these whom your heart calls family?"**_

The young man swallowed visibly, hands gripping his medicine satchel, his face so constricted by constipated reluctance that Soo-won winced. Still, in the end, he stepped forward, his eyes squeezed shut as the fingers touched his forehead.

 _ **"To clever, faithful and diligent Yoon, We give this blessing—**_ _ **That Fate Bind Thee Once More With These Thy Heart's Kin**_ _ **."**_

The young man fell, crumpling next to Yona and Hak. The Dragons looked at the three for some moments, before turning to their brother, Ouryuu.

In a motion that seemed no different from breathing, the Yellow Dragon, Ouryuu, opened his hand—and the golden medallion, lain forgotten in the dust, leapt into the air, falling into his hand in a graceful arch. Once contact was made with his faintly-glowing palm, the dust was blasted away, and a long string of golden beads, creating a necklace, grew from the short chain.

 _ **"Too long has your warrior kept Our Sister's gift from her, Brother."**_

Ouryuu looked down at the medallion, a thoughtful expression on his face. _**"Indeed. Yet, in his heart, he only intended to protect Our Sister from ancient griefs."**_

Hakuryuu frowned. _**"But—"**_

"Seems to me that he was trying to protect her from _you_ ," Soo-won interrupted quietly.

The four Dragons turned.

"Forgive this mortal for his impudence," Soo-won continued, folding his legs into a proper kneel, one he used when speaking to Masters at training. He did not feel this degree of respect, but it was useful for helping him maintain his composure. "But if you intended to undo all that has been done, could you not have interfered _earlier_? Why burden us with decades of suffering for naught?"

Did they find it amusing? Or were they just impulsive and careless, treating mortal lives as insects?

Four sets of eyes narrowed. The white dragon, Hakuryuu, stepped forward, squatting to eye level, and Soo-won felt the terror grip his soul as his heart was inspected closely, as if each fiber were a page turned by taloned fingers. Three hands settled on the White Dragon's shoulders.

 _ **"For you too, Child of Hiryuu's Line, We have a gift…"**_

Soo-won felt the temple hall spin as fingers met his brow.

 _ **"…**_ _ **That Thou Be Not Deceived**_ _ **."**_

* * *

[Oh, goodness, that prologue was a beast to get on the page …but I did it! Huzzah! Okay—I'mma be real for a moment: I have other stories I'm supposed to be working on, but I'm really trying to develop a writing habit. If one story isn't coming, I've decided to give myself permission to take a break and write what I can write. Even if I'm not sure I'll be able to finish, or that it will go anywhere… for the sake of learning to write more, I'm writing what I can in the moment.]

[That said, I really hope you guys have fun with this—I've been having tons of fun storystorming for it. I've been secretly dying to write a fanfic for Akatsuki no Yona for so long, and I really love good time-travel fanfiction (speaking of which, have you guys read _thursdayplaid_ 's Sherlock fanfiction ' _The Wee Doctor_ '? The human dynamics are so delightful that I have wept before her genius. No joke.) I really wanted to try it once, so... here goes?]

[As always, I welcome writing tips and pointers. Please share. All reviews are welcome, and make a big difference for motivation levels. Review liberally!]


	2. Chapter 1: Strange Dreams

**Chapter 1: Strange Dreams**

Yona woke feeling strangely relaxed. She hadn't slept this well since...well, in truth, since before she could remember. If she wasn't battle-sore, she was training sore. Not to mention the scars, small tugs and pulls here and there from dozens of old injuries. She felt positively liquid, now. It was pleasant, but strange.

 _A dream_ , she concluded.

She wondered if she ought to open her eyes, or just lie there and soak it in. Too often her dreams had been nightmares lately. It had gotten old. Better just to lie still and enjoy the moment of peace afforded. In the distance she could hear sounds of soldiers training. She ignored it. She was quite comfortable right where she was.

Well, almost comfortable. The ground was a little hard, in spite of her liquidity. Something was pressing into her back, but that was nothing new…or shouldn't have been. With all of her years of roughing it, it was quite irritating that the first restful dream she'd had in years was spoiled by the inexplicable sensitivity of a tenderfoot.

She sat up abruptly, scowling. She'd rather face down an angry bear than be reduced to wrestling with a _twig_.

She opened her eyes, expecting to find herself in a tent, perhaps having fallen off her cot. There was no cot. No tent, either. Instead, she found the rising sun beaming in her face, filling a ornate, sagging doorway with violent shades of red and orange as it peeked from between two distant mountains. The weathered stone floor, all save in her direct vicinity, was coated in layers of ash and rubble, a handful of broken red tiles, piles of crumbly, moldy burnt scrolls and tomes, and even a fallen, splintered pillar…

She noted chunks of stone, also. A shattered sculpture of some sort. She turned, taking in the remainder of the decaying surroundings, and found the statue's base behind her, only a few lonely rocks left to decorate it. It looked like it had exploded, blowing the layers of ash and dust from around it.

This destruction didn't seam like the work of mere decay. This was the aging remnants of an act of war. Where was she?

She pressed to her feet, stumbling as she became aware of her swaddling. She was drowning in an oversized throw of woven silk, one that glowed strangely in the sunlight, its many colors gleaming prettily, jade beads and golden tassels all along the hem. The air was cold in the drafty ruin, and the lavish throw was so wonderfully warm that she didn't bother shrugging it off for better mobility. It was weirdly comforting, almost like being held in the arms of loved ones. She pulled it tighter around herself and shuffled around the enormous pillar, wondering at the destruction to such a beautiful place as she made her way to the giant sagging entrance.

She stood at the top of an expanse of stone steps, overlooking Hiryuu Castle. Though she'd never seen it from this perspective before, it was unmistakable. The structures, the red paint, the layout, the mountains… it had been her home for sixteen years, and she knew it well.

 _That would make this… the old temple_ , she reasoned, sinking to sit on the top step, pulling the silk throw close. She peeked over her shoulder, back at the ruined interior, and then out over the surrounding mountains. It was a beautiful view. The fiery morning sky, blazing crimson over the snow-laden mountains, was unlike any she'd seen in the waking world.

In this light, the temple had a sort of dignity in spite of its sad state. It had obviously once been a magnificent sight to behold. Now it was worn and scarred. Yet, it remained.

How many times as a child had she been shooed away from these steps? How many superstitious castlefolk had whispered rumors of hauntings, of the wrath of the gods, of curses… Even Uncle Yu-hon could not order the destruction's finish so that something could be built in its place—not without causing an uproar among the religious. So it was left to decay on its own.

Yona had always felt strangely drawn to it, though… but not now. That strange pull was gone. It was just an old structure, gleaming with dignity in the light, but with the resilience of a fading ember.

Strange, indeed.

Her eyes were drawn to the training fields, where soldiers sparred for their morning practice, wooden swords clashing. It was nostalgic, a sound she'd heard most of her life that had once again grown familiar as she'd spent time mingling among Kouka's soldiers of late. One fighter drew the eye more than the others, spinning quickly as he fought off three opponents, two swords in his hands. She recognized that style, and the captain's uniform.

 _Joo-doh_.

It really was a dream.

She sniffed, lifting the throw to cover her chilled nose. This must be staged before his promotion, then. She huddled over her knees, watching to see if she recognized any of the other soldiers. Or perhaps she'd see the young Min-soo bustling about his morning duties.

After a moment of watching, she rested her cheek on her crossed arms, looking out over the snowy mountains, to the lands she knew lay beyond.

She had a feeling she knew what this was about. She'd been uneasy since Min-soo had come to them a week ago, bearing a summons from Soo-won... and a command to prepare to receive the throne upon her arrival. Perhaps unconsciously she'd wanted to dream of a simpler time, a time before all the chaos.

Soo-won had confessed.

Once, she would have valued that more… but now she knew better. It did not bring her father back from his grave. Nor did she wish to sit upon the throne, bombarded by the political machinations of the powerful and the privileged. She chuckled, burying her face in her arms.

 _I much prefer the lot of a chivalrous bandit…_

Her stomach growled. Perhaps it was time for breakfast. She'd likely wake soon, and they'd be on their way toward the castle once more.

...No. A wrinkle creased her brow. They'd already arrived at Hiryuu castle, hadn't they? Soo-won himself had informed them of his confession…

A groan left her lips, sounding strangely high, but she was too distracted by her inner turmoil to mind. She didn't want to wake up. Heavens, she didn't want to wake up.

Again, her stomach growled. She sighed. Would it stop if she ate something in her dream? Hunger was nothing new to her, nor her band of happy outlaws, but it certainly was inconvenient when it woke you early.

She stood, and began to work her way down the steps. They were weirdly tall, and she quickly found herself breathless. The back _and_ stamina of a tenderfoot, apparently. On a sudden hunch, she opened the strange silken throw, looking down at herself.

Ah.

How appropriate. She was a child.

The long walk to the kitchens suddenly seemed quite the undertaking. How long had it been since she had dreamed of herself as a child? She frowned, tugging at the soft sleepwear of her early years, the gentle pink colors, the formal embroidered tie across her tiny chest, the slippers... She was impressed that some hidden place in her mind remembered such details. She didn't even know when she had last dreamed of these days. Not since she had past twenty, surely. Even then, it had long lost this degree of detail.

She fingered the long chain hanging from her neck—the only detail that didn't make much sense. Why would she have Zeno's medallion? She held it up in the sunlight, the citrine, sapphire, pearl, and jade fringe shimmying faintly. It looked weirdly new, empty of nicks and wear, the gold catching the light and gleaming clean, untouched by time.

 _Strange dreams…_

This wasn't a memory. Not an accurate one, anyway. She didn't remember ever entering the temple, as her uncle had razed it before her birth. She'd never seen Zeno's medallion during her childhood, either.

Surely it wasn't a vision. What good was revisiting her frivolous and sheltered childhood?

She glanced back up the steps, at the lonely, broken temple door. Perhaps it was time to wake up, after all. There were many things she wasn't sure she was prepared to see again, given how much had been lost… and what was soon to be lost, for the last time.

Her undersized lips pursed, purple eyes heavy with thought.

 _Or not…_ she turned on her heel, facing the palace once more.

It was a quiet morning. Servants passed here and there, preparing for the day, but it was otherwise peaceful. Yona's stubby childhood legs were quite weary by the time she managed to arrive at the inner palace, tasseled silk dragging behind her, thoughts of the kitchens having faded in the presence of heavier ponderings. She stopped to rest on the steps of the little pavilion outside the queen's quarters. At first she had been unsure whether the beings in her dream would see her, but the small crowd of guards and servants that had trailed behind her curiously proved otherwise. As did the gaggle of worried palace maids that had nearly accosted her for having apparently been missing from her bed. She smiled at them in a manner she hoped was reassuring, but informed them in no uncertain terms that she did _not_ intend to be shooed anywhere and fussed over. Apparently there had been something in her eyes when she stood waiting for them to listen that had convinced them to humor her this morning.

A servant of higher ranking joined them now, where they fretted from a distance, one that looked vaguely familiar.

 _My old attendant … Hyun-ae?_

Yona winced. Hyun-ae had been one of her mother's ladies-in-waiting before hers. After the queen had passed, Hyun-ae had taken up the task of looking after Yona… but Yona had treated her terribly. Too grief-stricken and young to recognize the care in the woman's eyes, she'd resented her attempts to take her mother's place, and it had resulted in years of flippant disregard and almost spiteful whims that had become habit. She'd been too young and much too spoiled to recognize that she was not the only one who had lost someone precious.

She looked down at her tiny hands, the medallion resting in her palms, and felt the grief twist in her heart as the image of the small golden dragon blurred. It had taken losing her father, and all the privileges of her status as his daughter, for her to finally begin to learn that. Now, ten years after losing her family... she was losing it again.

Kija's village had tearfully agreed to protect the young blue and green dragon children—born to take Shin-ah and Jae-ha's place—alongside the fledgling white dragon until they were old enough to choose their paths. Their usually boisterous camp had been unbearably heavy after that meeting, having witnessed the infant white dragon with their own eyes.

They'd been on their way to Shin-ah's village when Min-soo had delivered the summons.

" _...ona? Yona! What's wrong?"_

Yona stiffened and looked up, startled from her pondering by the voice of an approaching child. Her heart stuttered, and her breath caught. It was little Soo-won—with his earnest pale-green eyes, his short light-brown hair, and height almost as meager as she hers despite having been three years her senior...

Her face scrunched a little with the effort of holding back tears.

How long had it been since she had dreamed of this? It had wrenched terribly after the death of her father ...but the passage of time had softened that by now, she found. Time, understanding...and her own sins. She had killed her own share of fathers on the battlefield. She had as much blood on her hands as any warrior.

Yet, she grieved it still. Grieved for both of them.

The dream-child, seeing the expression on her face, faltered in his approach, those guilelessly clear eyes tightening carefully. Soo-won had always been an observant one. It fit that even in her dreams he would see the pain she felt, though she hated to feel so vulnerable in front of him.

"Yona?"

She wiped at her eyes with her tiny hands, and sniffed, donning an expression that she hoped was a little brighter, though it hardly mattered. She would wake eventually, and the real Soo-won would be none the wiser. "Yes?"

He shifted, considering her carefully with worried eyes, not seeming to notice her jump at the sound of her own tiny voice.

"I heard you've not been eating recently. King Il is worried sick…" his words slowed, distracted by the strange look on Yona's face as he pulled a pear from within his little robes.

Something about this was terribly familiar. Soo-won held the pear out to her with both hands. "You should eat this! My master gave it to me, but…"

When his stomach growled—right on cue—Yona giggled, smiling as his cheeks reddened.

"Mundok always did love giving gifts to children."

The child's brow wrinkled, perhaps disturbed by the grief in her words. "Did cousin Yona know that Master Munduk was my teacher?"

Yona frowned. What an odd question for a dream to ask. She ignored it after a moment of thought, carefully pressing the pear back toward Soo-won, smiling again.

"I will eat soon enough. Thank you, Soo-won—you were always considerate to me when we were little...I never properly thanked you for that, did I?"

She sighed at his perplexed expression. It wasn't really necessary for this version of him to understand. This was a conversation she really ought to have with the real Soo-won ...while she still could. Her head lifted, eyes looking toward the king's quarters sadly, the grief magnifying.

It was better to speak the heart before all opportunity was lost.

"...You miss the Queen."

Yona blinked, startled. Little Soo-won was looking at her with somber eyes, his little features earnest with sympathy. _The Queen_ … Right. This was where they became close, where their true friendship began, bonding in the loss of her mother… where Yona had first developed feelings for him.

But it was so long ago that she barely remembered that sorrow, hardly remembered her own mother, save a few images and impressions. What she remembered most from that time was Soo-won's friendship… and her Father's grief.

Her father had been worried about her, but had he eaten anything that day? She pursed her lips. _How many times as a child did I fail to think of the struggles of those around me?_ Her face scrunched irritably as she looked down at the tiny hands at the ends of her short little arms.

Did she want to see her father? She'd come to terms with his death so long ago—did she truly need to test her heart in this way?

She jumped as a shadow fell over her, cloth draping over her head, and Little Soo-won settled by her side, his arms surrounding her gently. The familiar words left his mouth, just as she remembered.

"Don't worry—No one can see you like this… You can cry now."

She _knew_ , though slightly different, this is indeed what had happened so many, many years ago… but she wasn't prepared for her response to it. His arms were warm and kind, just as she remembered them to be when they were little. When had they last held each other as friends? Against her will, her eyes began to sting with gathering tears. Her tiny, untrained voice shook traitorously as she spoke.

" _What has become of us, Soo-won?"_

The arms around her squeezed gently. "What do you mean, Yona?"

She chuckled breathlessly, wiping at her traitorous eyes. It really was time to wake up. Her fingers were itching for her bow and a good, sturdy tree to pepper until her arms failed her. No matter how she cried, it would change nothing. No matter how she pled, it would change nothing.

She exhaled in resignation and stood.

"...I must go and see Father."

Soo-won looked up at her with wide eyes as she returned his robe. "The King? …right now?"

She nodded firmly, stepping carefully down from the pavilion steps, her sore legs unsteady beneath her. Perhaps the reason this dream was dragging on was because she was meant to face her father once more. She would have thought that it would be Soo-won that this dream was meant for her to confront… her father's death had happened so long ago, after all. She had made peace with it.

But perhaps something still remained.

Soo-won followed after her. She hated how her tiny legs took so long to get anywhere. She needed to see her father, and then wake up.

"Princess?"

The path ahead was blocked by the lady-in-waiting, Hyun-ae.

"I must go to see Father," Yona declared, her eyes taking in the worry and grief in the woman's surprisingly young features. Grieving for the mother that Yona barely remembered.

The woman's eyes widened, the hands formally folded in front of her sash—colored in the muted, dark tones of mourning—tightening. "His Magesty? Right now?"

"Indeed."

The woman's features reassembled themselves with dignity.

"The King is busy with many things, Princess… Perhaps a message requesting a visit when he is able would be more appropriate?" her hands settled back into their formal place as she regained her equilibrium "Your clothes and breakfast await you in your quarters—shall I help you to dress, Princess?"

Yona waited patiently for the woman to finish. She inhaled carefully. "That won't be necessary, Lady Hyun-ae. I will go to see the King _directly._ "

Her face fell as Yona proceeded to pass her, dragging her tasseled makeshift cloak.

"Yona," Soo-won sped to keep stride with her as the lady fell in behind, wringing her hands once more. Soo-won had always been quick to pick up on the distress of those about him, even if they had no relation. That lack of bias was part of what made him such a good leader. "The King is to meet with Master Mundok this morning. Should I request he pass on a message for you?"

Yona stopped. If her father was meeting with the general, then he would not be in his quarters. She turned toward the main palace.

"Princess! Are you quite certain you wouldn't prefer to eat something before you go? It would allow you time to dress, and us time to seek the King's permis—"

Hyun-ae stopped abruptly as Yona turned. Something felt wrong. A strange, irrational fear was beginning to prickle through her, one she had been shunning fiercely til now. It made her edgy, wary and sharp.

"I will eat in good time, and be assured that I will not allow Father to blame any of you for my self-neglect," she said quietly, " _But_ _I will see my father_ _ **now**_ _, My Lady_. If you do not wish to follow, then you are dismissed."

The walkway had gone quiet, guards and servants staring in shock, Lady Hyun-ae's eyes wide, startled. Yona inhaled. Just a little longer, and she would wake. She adjusted her makeshift cloak, breathing in the strange comfort of it, and wrestled her panic into a more dignified wariness. There was no need to let a dream disturb her so. She just needed to be patient.

And to see her father.

Calm established once more, she opened her eyes to find that Hyun-ae had knelt before her, arms extended, eyes downcast in deference. "…If the Princess wishes to be carried, this servant will do so."

Yona was taken aback by the offer, not only because it came so meekly from a lady of some standing, but also because it was such a baffling suggestion. The last person to carry her had been Hak, and that because she had been injured in a particularly bloody skirmish some months ago. The prospect of being carried now, without an injury to justify it, and by a woman no less, was confusing. Yona might have been able to carry another woman, but Lady Hyun-ae's arms were so thin...

Soo-won peered down at her, his head tilted to catch her sight. His gaze was careful, genuine worry over her behavior bleeding through unrestrained. It was unsettling to see him so transparent. The grown Soo-won was so difficult to read...

"Would you prefer that _I_ carry you, cousin Yona?"

Yona's frown deepened, her tiny voice ringing with incongruent severity. "I would undoubtedly squish _you_ , Soo-won."

It took a long moment for Yona to understand the looks she was being given. It wasn't until a servant who had only just joined them laughed and said "I doubt you could squish a bug, Princess—you're so light that the King frets day and night."

Yona stared at the girl in confusion before the answer dawned.

 _Right. A child_.

She took a step back from Soo-won, troubled eyes eventually seeking the still-offered arms of Lady Hyun-ae, thoughts of her trembling, sore legs battling with her pride.

The legs, and her growing sense of wrongness, won.

She just wanted to get this over and done with. She almost wished Hak would storm into her tent and toss her out of bed for being late to training.

Yona panicked briefly as her feet left the floor, greatly disturbed by how easily this willowy woman was able to lift her... and irrationally frightened of the new distance between her and the floor. Strangling her expression, and the collar of the woman's fine dress, she nodded, and they set off toward the main palace.

Letting out a shaky breath, Yona opened her eyes once more, taking in the palace. It looked just as she remembered. So much as she remembered that it unsettled her. The bustle of servants familiar and not, the gleam of the polished armor of the guards, the ornate red of the woodwork, the smell of oils and incense, the nicks and carefully treated wear of centuries… Dreams were not supposed to be so vivid.

She turned away and took a breath, filling her tiny, trembling lungs.

"I'm sorry."

Hyun-ae slowed, her brows lifting. "Princess?"

"You have never shown less than sincerity and graciousness, Lady Hyun-ae. I wish that I had learned more from your example."

Hyun-ae's eyes had gradually widened as Yona spoke. "There is no need for apologies, Princess. You are quite dignified for one so young. I'm certain our beloved Queen… was very proud of you."

Yona wondered about that. Her mother was reputed as gentle and gracious, much like Lady Hyun-ae. Neither of them had likely ever _wounded_ another, let alone killed. She doubted that the woman who had married such a gentle ruler would be proud of a daughter with the blood of hundreds on her hands—and thousands on her conscience.

They arrived at the ornate doors of the king's study, but were barred entry by the guards.

"The Princess wishes to see his Majesty," Lady Hyun-ae spoke with cautious authority. "She comes to beg an audience."

The guards exchanged a look, unsure.

Of course. Yona was only a princess, and one much too young in her current guise to understand the weight of her father's mantle. If she were a little older, and a prince, they might have humored her more readily, but as it was… Yona sighed, her jaw clamping as she managed her impatience. When she spoke, her words were measured and weighted.

"Tell the king …that his daughter carries news of a great upheaval to the throne, and fears to wait for his convenience."

She looked sadly down into the wide, lost eyes of little Soo-won.

There was stunned silence.

"P-Princess…" Hyun-ae's voice was gentle and careful, though bewildered. "Did you have a nightmare?"

Yona closed her eyes. Just a little longer, and this would end.

"No, My Lady," she blinked her eyes open, expression set. She remembered little of the confrontation with the grown Soo-won last night, but... "…I heard the usurper speak his plans in the temple. That is where I came from this morning."

Her gaze landed, sharp and hard, on the guard before her—voice quiet, but chilling. Unbeknownst to her, there was a simmering in her gaze that could not be denied. She had become accustomed to being listened to over the past years, and did not think to question why the King's guard would be intimidated by a four year-old.

"Announce my presence to my father, Soldier, or you will stand trial beside the perpetrators for their crimes."

She held his eyes for a moment longer before releasing him, fixing her gaze on his fellow guard. Pinned as he was, he was unable to stay his unfortunate comrade as he shakily, but hastily, vanished into the study.

She sighed once he was gone. An empty threat. She did not like to lie… but she was so terribly tired. Her head was beginning to ache slightly, and she felt vaguely warm. She hoped she would not wake so.

"Yona…"

Soo-won looked up at her, wide eyes bewildered, so confused. There was something else there, something like fear, maybe even a little pain, his hands touching his ears as if they hurt. She frowned. It wasn't as if she had _shouted_ at the guard.

" _Don't be afraid_ ," she murmured, speaking confidence with her eyes.

Soo-won looked into those eyes in pale confusion, searching for something. It took a few moments, but his childish expression slowly changed. It was still uncertain, still afraid, but it was also too… too _aware._ It was the first time that Yona felt herself truly _looked at_ in her dreams. There was real intelligence in those eyes. The uneasiness in her heart twisted.

 _This is all wrong. This is too…_

The ornate study burst open, and such thoughts were forgotten.

A man rushed toward her, robed in his black mourning robes, with a jolly roundness that was too familiar, and far too dear for her to bear. His arms opened, his expression full of grief and worry, completely unaware of the devastation the sight of him crashed upon his daughter's heart. She almost cried out against it as she was pulled into his arms, and would have, if it weren't for the overwhelmingly familiar smell that greeted her as her tiny face was buried in his chubby neck. That familiar, simultaneously musky and flowery smell—accented with the smell of parchment and royal ink—that was his, alone. It filled her with feelings she hadn't felt for over a decade. A flood of safety, of ease, warmth and of being loved…

It was too real, and it was too cruel… but it was undeniably _his,_ and that suddenly made up for it all. She felt the wetness on her cheeks, the sobs caught in her throat, and the familiarity—yet utter foreignness—that was being held in the arms of someone seemingly so immense he could hide her from the world, hide her from _everything._

She became conscious to his voice as he, in his meek, panicked way, demanded explanations from all present. There was a genuine note of terror in it, and she remembered the way he had been after her mother's death. It had taken him years to ease they hysteria from his voice when he worried for her safety, to become resigned to all that the throne meant for them, and to be the gentle, wise father he truly was again. She was crushed against him uncomfortably, only her hand was free, and she reached up to place it over his lips, feeling that smooth, round chin she knew so well with her tiny palm. It did not catch his attention as she wished. Rather, he grasped her hand in his larger one, pulling it tightly to his chest. His heart thundered under her ears. He would not stop to look at her.

And because of that, she knew she could not afford to be a child here. While everything was old and familiar, safe and sheltered…

She was not. That child had died ten years ago, just as he had.

She inhaled, unaware of how familiarly the thrum of a command would come to her, whether she dreamed or not, whether she were a child or not. It almost broke her voice with its force as it cut through the noise to be heard.

" _ **Father."**_

If not for the thundering heart under her ear, she might have thought she woke for the suddenness of the quiet. She pressed away from his chest now that his hands had loosened in his confusion, and looked into those beloved brown eyes, so familiar, yet not. He was much younger than she remembered, and looked so harried, a red rimming and dark circles to them that spoke of sleepless, tear-filled hours in the night. She vaguely remembered this.

But she could see things now that she hadn't then. For the first time, she could see his burden. How desperate and lonely he was, and how it was making him ill.

It hurt so see it. She had hoped to find the steady, warm, cheerful man who might sooth her fears, who might give her words of wisdom. She had hoped that he might help her prepare her heart to accept the throne, perhaps even help her gain the wisdom she needed to save Soo-won from his fate…

But as she looked into his eyes, she knew she could not ask that of this man. He was already hurting, already afraid for her, and she could not bear to make him uneasy with her own fears as well.

Perhaps this was the message she had been seeking. This was not her father's burden. Not even Soo-won's.

It was her turn.

Looking into her father's weary face, younger than she'd ever truly seen it, and so frightened, she placed her tiny hands on his cheeks. Tilting his face forward with gentle pressure, she placed a kiss on his brow. Her young voice was soft, but full of certainty, promise, and meaning.

" _Peace, Father—I am well._ "

But it was there again, that strange light in the eyes, just as it had been in Soo-won's. The spark of wakefulness, of _awareness._ Her father's eyes searched hers, seeking something. Unknown to her was how strange her expression was on the face of a child, how unlike a child at all. How unlike _his_ child …the child she had not been for almost a lifetime.

His search caught on the glimmer of her unusual cloak. One large hand reached for it, drawing it slowly aside so he could see what rested against the belly of her pale nightgown. Zeno's gleaming golden medallion.

She felt him go rigid.

"Leave us," he said, his voice hiding a tremor, his eyes fixed upon the medallion.

"Your Magest—" the guard began to interrupt, the one still at the door where Lady Hyun-ae and little Soo-won stood looking on uncertainly. Mundok had arrived, and Yona felt the swift punch to her gut that was the sight of her beloved mentor, decades younger than she had seen him last, whole, well, and living.

" _LEAVE US!"_

All jumped at the thundersome tone, so unlike the monarch they new, Yona included. Her father was trembling fiercely now, and Yona had to grip his royal robes for fear of falling as servants swiftly fled past them, the doors finally closing on the worried faces beyond.

Her father was not looking at her. His eyes seemed glazed. She'd seen that look before, countless times. This wasn't worry. This was _fear._

"Father?"

He flinched, and swallowed, his pallor so white that Yona feared that _both_ of them would fall. It was much to her relief then, that he chose to kneel first, though she held for dear life. As the ground met her feet again, she released a tension she hadn't realized she'd been holding since Hyun-ae lifted her the first time. Still, she stood close, holding her father's robes. She did not wish to see him fall without anything to slow it. Small she may be, but she would protect this man if she could. Always.

When he bent of his own will, however, forcing Yona to make way for him before her, Yona found herself terribly confused. He was bowing. He was bowing to her, in the most formal way possible, his hands shaking where he placed them carefully on the ornate carpeting, his ornamented head resting on the ground.

Yona felt panic rising in her throat. "…Father?!"

Again, he flinched at the title, and Yona felt it as a dagger in her heart.

"O, M-Mighty Hiryuu," Her father's voice trembled as he prayed, with grief, and with terror, but also with a terrible, fearful reverence. "Please… Please spare this unworthy servant's heart—my child…my child is too young…"

At this, his voice choked, and he wept, with racking sobs of grief …and Yona stared in horror.

What was this?

"Fath—" he flinched again, shaking terribly, and Yona could not finish what she began. This was not what she thought it was. This dream was not what she thought it was.

It was a nightmare.

" _ **King Il!"**_

Her throat was sore from the strange thrumming of it, her head aching, burning. Everything hurt. Her eyes hurt. She was so _tired._ She didn't want to wake anymore. She just wanted to sleep. Sleep without dreams.

Her father had stilled, but still trembled, his head still lowered. Yona frowned.

" _ **Rise, Please."**_

The man who lifted his head was still her father, just as she remembered him. And she still loved him, just as she remembered—how could she not? But, with dreadful, painful clarity, Yona realized that this man knew that she was not as _he_ remembered her. Somehow he had seen past the visage of youth that had deceived the others, and knew that she was not the child he had raised. That she was not the innocent girl with clean hands. That she had become exactly what he had never wished her to be. She had become _his_ nightmare.

Seeing it there, seeing his reception so plain before her, almost broke her heart more than his loss had …but Yona was not one to run from heartbreak. Not one to be crushed and defeated by it. Once was enough for her.

She looked into his eyes, glazed and overflowing with grief and pain, and took his face in her hands once more.

Oh, how his fear hurt.

"…I know that I am not the Yona you knew," she said honestly, uncertainly, powerless to stop the tears that met her tiny hands. Her voice, so small but so severe, sounded strange even to her own ears. "I am not the innocent child you so treasured—but neither have I ceased to be _me_."

He blinked through watery eyes at her, clearly confused. He was still afraid, but he was listening.

"I cannot afford to be helpless. I cannot afford to be blind—but in my heart, I promise that I will love our people just as you taught me to," she spoke truthfully, pleading for him to understand. "I will not hurt our people when it is at all in my power to protect them; I will not even hurt our enemies, when I have the choice to spare them. Know that I treasure all life, just as you did."

She took a deep breath, the words she'd wanted to tell him for so many years, so many restless nights spent stained in blood after battle, falling from her lips.

"I swear upon both our names—that though I may carry a sword for our people, they will remember me for my _love_ before anything else."

Her father's eyes had gone wide at this speech, clearly still confused, but his shock was beginning to outweigh his fear. She waited for him to gather himself, seeing him struggle with his tears and his hope.

"And…And Yona?"

Yona tilted her head slightly. "Yes?"

"W-What about my daughter?"

Yona blinked, a little confused. He could see now, though, how worried for her he was. That he still loved her, even though she was not as he remembered. She smiled sadly, pressing her brow to his, her eyes closing.

"I will be …content, Papa. I know how to live with all my heart, now—and though it cannot be without its scars, it is most happy while protecting the hearts of those it loves."

He sagged into her then, sobbing into her shoulder as her tiny arms held him as best they could. She felt her own tears gather and spill. Though she stayed silent, it felt safe to grieve here, with the man whose loss represented so much the beginning of the end of her innocence. It was a kinship she had never truly known with her father before, but one she welcomed, as strange as it was.

Her tears did not last long. She waited to wake, but the moments slipped by sluggishly. She tried to force herself to think clearly, to understand, but her head ached and burned the harder she tried, whispers on the edge of her consciousness, strange voices clouded as if she were listening through water as her heart thundered in her own ears.

"— _brance be proportionate to thy str_ _—"_

Yona became conscious of her father's thick hand feeling her cheeks and brow, a careful worry in his red-rimmed eyes as he looked down at her. It was soothing. She was so tired. She could let him take care of her for a little bit longer, couldn't she? She had finally said what she needed to say. She could relax now, until it was time to wake.

She felt the world teeter and spin as he stood, carrying her toward the door. It opened, and she heard him conversing carefully with the familiar, and some unfamiliar, faces that looked down at her. When she saw Mundok's, looking down at her in concern, she reached to him, patting his beard fondly, though a little sleepily, her heart clenching with love as new tears formed. It was good to see him again, strange or no.

She noticed his good eye was darkened and a little swollen, and she laughed a little.

"Did Hak give you that?"

Mundok frowned down at her, looking worried.

"Princess… who is Hak?"

* * *

[Don't kill me! Hak will be back (But probably not in the very next chapter. To make up for that, as requested, I will admit {SPOILER ALERT} that Hak and Yona are OTP-ZILLA, and I'm not about to perjure myself by pretending they aren't.)]


End file.
